


you're killing me, I hope you know

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 16!Zayn/19!Liam, ADDED TAGS FOR CHAPTER 2 WOOOO:, Alternate Universe - School, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Horny Teenagers, I dno that's it? just rEAD PLEASE I LOVE MY ZAYNIE CHARACTER TBH, I mean that's most of it just me trying to be funny, Lots of it, M/M, MORE FIFA NO ONE CARES I STILL HAVEN'T PLAYED IT, MORE LARRY YOU'RE WELCOME, Pining, Rimming, Secret Crush, Secret Relationship, Smut, Teenagers, hunk liam??, louis is an annoying best friend???, oh shit went real, that's it that's the fic, that's the most accurate suggested tag I've ever seen, twink zayn?, yes tell me more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: The thing is.The thing is, Zayn never thought he had a thing for older guys. Hell, scratch that. He never thought he had a thing for guys, period, seal the envelope and devour it in flames. Boys never really exited the friendzone in his set of mind - never reallytried to, either, if he’s being completely honest - and therefore were just always just left at, like. The bro-level. Left in the brozone and never brought up and re-considered for any other options.Though, he supposes, Liam never really was his bro.or: Zayn is 16, Louis is his best friend, Louis has a hot athletic step brother, Liam is not a helpful hot athletic step brother.





	1. shoot me deeply into your veins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itis_whatitis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itis_whatitis/gifts).



> Hi!! Hellounor is back! Liam is a dad! Harry hasn't posted on instagram in 6 months! Zayn didn't win a brit but his ex that wrote a really mean song about their breakup did!! I feel awful!! I wrote this!!!!
> 
> This is def not age accurate but [inspo for Zayn](http://l2.yimg.com/bt/api/res/1.2/.iWJ3BJ6YJxCX3OZqWi.gQ--/YXBwaWQ9eW5ld3M7cT04NQ--/http://media.zenfs.com/en-GB/blogs/the-juice/Zayn-Malik-New-Look.jpg)  
> Inspo for Liam: 2013 with a muscly bod and a scruffy scruff

The thing is.

The thing is, Zayn never thought he had a thing for older guys. Hell, scratch that. He never thought he had a thing for guys, period, seal the envelope and devour it in flames. Boys never really exited the friendzone in his set of mind - never really _tried to_ , either, if he’s being completely honest - and therefore were just always just left at, like. The bro-level. Left in the brozone and never brought up and re-considered for any other options.

Though, he supposes, Liam never really was his bro. 

Louis would kill him if he knew, that one fact is for sure. It’s not even that he cares; they’re only step brothers, Louis and Liam, separated by three years and a dangerously thin wall between their two bedrooms. But Louis is also Zayn’s best mate, has been ever since primary, and best mates make each other’s lives proper living hells. Don’t they?

He can’t recall how it all started (probably something to do with the fact Zayn takes art for college while Liam goes to uni and is on the football team and that they were never meant to be), but what he can tell you is why these past few weeks in particular have had his ears flaming hot and his lip being chewed raw.

Well, for starters, Liam has this ridiculous body, right? Totally unattainable, like, how’s a 19-year-old even got thighs like that? Zayn, not oblivious to this fact, had come knocking to see Louis just like any other day, best mates and all that, when Liam, to his horror, answered the door clad in merely a tank top and these ridiculously, _ridiculously_ short-cropped gym shorts, shower soft hair and eye-crinkling grin plastered over his entire face. Smelled nice, he did, too. Zayn wanted death.

He may have also jerked off to the thought of Liam one too many times. It just, _happens_ , and he’s known for his creative mind. Liam kissing him, Liam grinding against him. Liam’s strong arms pushing him against the tiles of the showers after a footie game, knee parting his thighs, hand on his jaw and making him _beg_ to get his lips back on his. So then when Liam, as Zayn was just peacefully sat on the bleachers waiting for Louis to finish practice one day, had come up and talked to him, shining with sweat, muscles weak and twitchy, grinning and smelling of proper _sex_ , Zayn had humped his pillow so hard that night he tore a big rip in the seam. He’s still picking feathers out of his hair every morning he wakes up, repeatedly reminded of the trauma that is his life.

Today, Liam’s had the nerve to come into Louis’ room while Louis ran to get batteries for the Xbox controller (which, jesus, isn’t that a rule for any sibling to _not enter each other’s territory under any circumstances_?), and he’d just sort of leaned smugly against the doorway, looking down on Zayn where he was sat awkwardly on the bed, and asked how he was, if he needed anything.

Zayn had, sort of, blacked out at that point. But somehow Liam now has his number in his phone and it gets Zayn jittery just thinking about it. 

He’s let in yet another goal to Louis in Fifa before he decides he can’t continue repressing his feelings like this. Bro code or not, and no matter if blood happens to be thicker than water (except, he supposes it’s more like… fake blood. Like, Carrie-esque corn syrup and red food colouring, or something), he’s not going to lose at the stupidest game created just because he suddenly can’t stop thinking about how his dick would feel against Liam’s thighs of steel.

“Lou?” he croaks, stops and clears his throat. “Uh, do you know, like… Does Liam have a girlfriend?”

He actually scrunches his face up in embarrassment. Did he really just? Yeah. He really just did that. 

Louis turns to him, amused.

“You wha?”

He shakes his head. “Was nothing.”

“Well now I’m very interested, Zaynie.” He pauses the game, that absolute dickhead. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

Zayn wants to pull the collar of his black T-shirt up over his nose and revel in that makeshift sanctuary to never ever be forced to respond to that question. 

So he does. 

Louis raises his eyebrows, pushes at his leg from where he’s sat below him on the floor with a slight scoff. “Bit charmed, are we now?”

“Nothing of the sorts”, Zayn mumbles, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand, though he knows he sucks at lying to the point when there’s barely any use in even trying at all. 

Louis seems to accept this response more than the nothing-at-all, though, or at least he decides to have mercy on him (though Zayn can tell he thinks he must be asking out of the blue or something, with what the lack of hands wrapped around his throat and screams to lay off his big brother). He just pats his knee good naturedly before he turns back to the TV screen again. 

“No, no. No girlfriend’s been around, not that I’ve seen”, Louis tells him lightly, unpausing the game. “No boyfriends either, in case you were so curious.”

Zayn nearly chokes on nothing at that.

“It’s all good in the hood, babe”, Louis continues, smugly (and what a weird family trait it is to be so easily smug), as he looks at him over his shoulder. 

Zayn raises his eyebrows quickly, annoyedly. 

“Alright, then”, he says, almost through gritted teeth.

And then it’s quiet for just a beat. 

“Would go for less of a sporty guy myself, don’t know about you.”

“Lou I swear to god--”

“Was just saying, man!” he cries in defense, drawing his shoulders up excessively. “Can’t say I care too much about that stuff.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at him. “Someone like Harry then, is it?” he says with a raised brow.

He thinks it’s a comeback, should have been a good one, too, because he’s noticed Louis has been acting quite differently around this particular classmate of theirs a lot as of lately. 

But instead Louis just looks absolutely _pleased_ with himself. “Ay up.” He nods slowly with a smirk on his face. “Nice little body.”

Zayn makes a gagging noise and Louis slaps his leg again, bit less good naturedly.

They continue playing in more or less silence for a few minutes. Zayn’s goalie skills don’t improve, despite The Big Unraveling Of All Stuffs And Things, but then again he thinks he can blame it on his teenage hormones more than it being a faulty therapy session on Louis’ end.

There’s a moment of confusion when his phone buzzes next to him and it’s just a series of numbers splayed across the bar where his strangest nicknames usually should appear (Louis, for example, has almost always been Boobear). The confusion doesn’t fully settle even after he’s properly read the text message.

 _”I can actually hear you two, you know”_.

Zayn feels his ears get hot as soon as the recognition settles, and with that, his stomach positively _drops through the floor_. The text must be from Liam. There’s no other explanation. Their parents aren’t home, should be gone until the evening at the very least, and unless it’s just a text sent to the wrong number - which he kind of really hopes it’s not - he’s pretty certain he can rule out ghosts or house gnomes eavesdropping on his and Louis’ conversations through the dangerously thin wall to his bedroom. 

He should have known better.

He can’t find the composure to fabricate a morally correct response before his phone buzzes again, and this time, it’s just the more cryptic than before and at the same time, so much more clear.

 _“Louis is outta here in 3… 2…. :)”_.

Zayn counts the _one_ aloud in his head, even looks around the room. But nothing happens. He honestly expects an explosion at the very least but instead just gets Louis screaming at him for not keeping up with his football players on the pitch. He’s just about to ask Louis to pause so he can text back (or maybe, like, walk the five steps to knock on Liam’s door) when Louis’ phone beeps obnoxiously.

His face gives it away as he reads the text before he even turns to summarize it to Zayn.

“Shit, Zaynie”, he speaks, fast, bouncing off the floor. His eyes are still set on the phone in his hand. “Got a bit of an emergency situation here. Got to run - you’ll let yourself out, yeah?”

He’s almost already out of the room before Zayn even has a time to respond. “...Okay?”

“Sorry man, it’s a call of duty”, Louis apologises, all part of the same big ramble, really, but his face doesn’t give off any sort of signs of remorse. It rather speaks volumes of _’I’ve got a nice little body waiting just for me’_. “Swear. I’ll call you, love. See you!”

He’s out the door before Zayn can even process what just happened.

And, also. How the hell did Liam just do that?

He stares at the wall, completely dumbfounded, then smears his hands over his face. His head hurts and the world must be fucking with him, all the stars aligned to make his life miserable, or some BS like that. He refrains from groaning into his palms out of frustration just because Liam is right next door.

Oh, god. Liam is right next door.

He starts into sitting position and glares at the TV, abandoned mid-match. Louis’ controller is left on the floor and he grabs for it to turn it off, lets it drop back down out of his hands once the screen has switched to black. Then he just. Sits there for a moment. Though, he figures, all in due time, that sulking in his misery will give him no good answers. So he gets up and exits the bedroom.

Liam’s door is already ajar. Zayn stops in the doorway, taking it in. He’s got a few trophies littering shelves on the wall, got some posters of people Zayn has probably never seen before and probably never will either and, there, on the bed, phone in hand and baseball snapback on skewed, the most priced possession in the whole fucking house. 

And, honestly, the size of Liam’s grin is about as ridiculous as the thickness of his thighs. “Alright, Zaynie?”

Zayn gets an urge to lunge forward and - what? Strangle him? Sit on his face? “Could you maybe tell me what the fuck just happened?”

Liam shrugs, looks as nonchalant as ever. “Sounded like Harry was a bit of a damsel in distress, didn’t you think?” He rolls over a bit to put his phone away. “Lou’s mad about him, swear. It’s just about time he realises it himself.”

Zayn cocks an eyebrow. “Louis didn’t mention anything about Harry.”

The response he gets is a smirk.

Zayn is about to start a dramatic backing-the-fuck-away-from-this scene but he’s truly too busy resisting his jaw from hanging slack at the realisation. Liam actually got Harry to get Louis out of the house. Liam actually eavesdropped on them both. Liam actually knows Zayn is crushing on him, hard. 

He’d have been gobsmacked enough just at the thought of Louis and Harry together. Like? Ew.

He gestures backwards, can feel his nerves kicking in, god-fucking-dammit it all to hell, and and he balances awkwardly on the threshold as he fumbles for just words, _words_. “I should- uh, Louis said to let myself out? I’ll be leaving. Yeah.”

He’s about to turn away, but Liam reaches a hand out. Begs for him to stop. 

“Hey”, he says gently. He gets off the bed, and a few long strides forwards later, he’s right in front of him. Zayn stares into his chest, then slowly, slowly tilts his head back to look into his eyes. He actually feels physical pain in his heart when he does. “Sorry about all this. Thanks for coming over.”

Liam smiles, ever so sweetly. Zayn flashes him a fast, unsure smile back, and. Then. Liam’s lips on his cheek. He freezes, can’t grasp what has happened, then realises it’s a kiss goodbye. It’s just polite boy stuff. _Bye, Zaynie, thanks for coming over. No problem, man, sorry for almost getting a boner over ya._

He still can’t help the warmth that flashes through his body, drenching him in something different than before. And he swears it’s them both’s fault when Liam pulls back from his cheek, when he lingers a bit too long in front of him and they both press forward at the same time, hungry lips clashing together. 

Zayn sucks in a hard breath through his nose, eyes fluttering closed. His heart jumps and beats like a steel hammer in his throat. His knees nearly sag beneath him as he feels his body turning into a useless mushy weight, arms reaching out, but too scared to touch. Until.

Until Liam gets sturdy hands on his hips and pushes him back against the wall. Zayn bumps harshly into it, a soft moan emitted into Liam’s mouth as Liam presses his tongue to his bottom lip, tracing it, finding his. Their bodies press flush together and Zayn wraps his arms around his middle, pulling him closer. He’s never kissed a boy before but he likes it, likes the burn of his slight scruff beard and and his strong arms gripping him and the- jesus fucking christ. _The hard length pressed against his thigh._

“Hope you actually meant what you said there, before”, Liam pants then, between kisses, half of the words mumbled uselessly against his lips, “otherwise I’m in deep fucking trouble.”

Zayn wants to both laugh and cry at the same time. But he does neither. Instead he slips his hands down lower than just Liam’s waist, kneads his fingers into his ass and makes the other boy pull away a bit with a slight gasp, foreheads leaned together.

“Yeah”, he breathes, biting his bottom lip, though he’d rather be biting Liam’s. He opens his eyes then, sees it within reach, wet and plump and _fuck_. “Fuck”, he says aloud, too.

“Yeah?” Liam echoes, beckons. “You like me?”

Zayn doesn’t know how to properly respond at first, scared the words will say too much and at the same time, scared they’ll say too little. “Really, really like you.”

“Or is it just a sex thing?” Liam continues, making Zayn blush. Was that an open invitation? He can’t take it as much else.

“Please.”

Liam visibly gulps. His hands drift from Zayn’s waist as well, down along his hips, thumbs grazing the jut of his hipbones through the front of his baggy jeans.

“Please, what?”

_Please, make me feel good. Please, tell me I’m pretty and leave lovebites along my collarbones. Please, bend me over a desk and fuck me until I’m screaming. Please, please, just touch me again._

He doesn’t say any of it. Instead, he lunges forward and kisses him, hard, lips smacking together, and he thinks that speaks volumes on its own.

Liam must get it because it’s almost immediate, like instinctive, when he reaches down, scoops his arms behind Zayn’s knees and and hauls him up in his grip. There’s a moment when Zayn wants to panic, pull away and squeal about Liam dropping him to his death, but instead he moves his arms to cling around his neck and his for his legs to hook around his middle and next thing he knows, Liam has him literally pinned to the wall, crotches pressed together.

They both moan, throatily, and then Liam snickers. “Not what I- uh, shit, hang on.” He pulls them away from the wall, stumbles a bit as he pads over to the bed. Gently, ever to gently, he splays Zayn across his sheets, following suit and placing himself between his legs. “There.” A smile. “Got you.”

Zayn smiles back, poking his tongue out and biting it. “Got me.”

The adorable face is dissolved into something quite different when he feels Liam palm him through the front of his jeans. The pair of lips that get attached to his neck don’t help much either.

“ _Fuck_...” is all he can think to say, or rather _gasp_ , grabbing a fistful of the back of Liam’s shirt. His lips are sin. Proper, proper sin.

“Mhm. Sound so good to me.” He’s mumbling into his skin, each vowel a low vibration through his spine. “Been thinking about you, you know. Every time you came over, you little twink, you - with your cute glasses and pretty eyes, thought you were going to drive me crazy.”

Zayn probably shouldn’t like the idea of him being a twink so much, nor should he be getting more turned on by Liam calling him just that. Though he realises they literally are every twink and hunk fantasy anyone could ever ask for, and Liam is doing absolute bloody wonders with his hand just then, so all Zayn can really do is tip his head back prettily and hope he continues talking. 

“Don’t mind me saying, I’ve wanted to wreck you for a while, now”, he continues. He pulls Zayn’s shirt down with the hand he’s half-leaning on, ducks down and sucks right over his collarbone. Zayn gasps, hand fumbling for his hair, buries his fingers in the short strands and looks down on his lips doing the sinful things they appear to do best. “Fuck”, he says when he pops off, “if you just knew how much I’ve been getting off to the thought of you just like this.”

“Ditto”, Zayn says, studying as his tan skin turns red where Liam has marked him. Liam re-attaches himself to his neck and it prompts Zayn to spill more petty words. “God. Wanted those hands on me, your strong arms… Wanted to be on your bed, just like this. Be a proper whore for your fit fucking body.”

He wants to wince in pure embarrassment yet again, but Liam just moans at the words into his neck, hot and wet and _hot_ and - did he already say that? It’s fine. Everything is _fine_ , and Liam’s hand is pushing into the front of his jeans.

Zayn bucks up into the touch, can’t control himself any longer. He wants to moan and writhe beneath Liam and it’s going way too slow all of a sudden. But it’s like Liam knows this and agrees, because suddenly his soft lips are gone off his neck, and Zayn feels light-headed, feels disoriented without his warmth spread across him, but he snatches his head up too look when he feels the warmth spread across his thighs instead.

Liam flicks his gaze up at him quickly before he tugs on his jeans, and Zayn has to push his hips up off the bed so he can drag them down to collect them by his ankles. This, he’s done before. Like, once. Secondary school was a weird time. Apparently being “the mysterious art nerd” has its advantages when it comes to talking to pretty girls and, he supposes, now, that it goes for pretty boys as well.

Liam mouths over his black boxers, over his super-fucking-hard dick straining against the fabric, leaking precome and twitching when Liam breathes hot breath over the head. Zayn throws his head back, can’t help but buck his hips again and he wants to just touch him, touch him, touch him but Liam grabs his wrists when he tries, pins them to his side.

Liam takes him out of his boxers, lets the waistband snap to his body underneath his balls. Zayn can barely breathe.

“God, you’re so wet, babe”, Liam breathes, licking him from base to top and Zayn has to choke back a moan, his fists turned into balls and tangled in the duvet already. “Go slow?”

“No”, Zayn spits immediately. He wrenches his head to the side, nuzzling his face into the sheets. They smell like Liam’s cologne. “Need you.”

Liam drags his hand along his shaft, thumbing over his head. Zayn doesn’t know whether to gasp or moan and he thinks he does both, throws an arm over his face and curls his legs around Liam’s shoulders. He realises Liam must have planned this all ahead, with what how he seems to know exactly what he’s doing and where he’s going with his every action. He slips his lips over the tip of his dick at the same time as he starts rubbing a now-wet long finger over the entrance to his ass.

Zayn’s chest heaves, thinks the words that spill from his lips are a billion different constellations of curses mixed with prayers, pleads and sighs and just a bunch of “oh god”s as Liam tongues over his slit, finger pushing into him and stretching him open, slowly, slowly until he reaches in to his knuckle.

He’s a proper _tease_ if Zayn’s ever seen one.

As Liam’s hands are busy, Zayn finds a moment to curl his fingers in his short hair and drag him closer over him, doesn’t really realise how much he’s pulling until Liam pulls back with a gasp, feels his spit dribble all down his cock. But Zayn doesn’t have time to apologise because Liam is back on him immediately after a sharp breath, taking his dick into his free hand and guiding him back into his mouth, bobbing his head over the length with a gradually quicker and quicker pace as he slides his hand along. Oh, okay, so Liam’s a proper slut for his dick. _That’s fine._

Liam curls his own fingers too, into him, angling up towards his balls and - Zayn thinks he’s close to a _scream_ when he feels the pressure there, just right, warm and pulsating and just downright erotic feelings shooting through him, making his thighs quiver, making them want to close but can’t, being trapped around Liam’s thick shoulders. He bites his lip and lolls his head back, glasses fogging up and he’s nearly shaking.

It doesn’t matter how much Liam impresses with how deep he can take him now; Zayn focuses on the moments his tongue slips over his slit, and even more on when a second finger is being pushed into him, when they wiggle a bit, when the pressure turns into a quick pressing and thumping against his prostate and Zayn finds himself _sobbing_ into his arm. He moves the hand on his face to his tummy, holds it there and _oh fucking goddamn it_ , he can feel it, just barely feel Liam’s nimble fingers under his skin, pressing up softly against his palm, but it’s enough for him to squirm and for his dick twitch and he thinks he might just lose it. Zayn is hit with the thought of Liam fucking him, and this would be enough alone, but he’d be angling his thrusts and get his belly bulging up, cock visible where it’d be thrusting into him, Zayn’s body too tiny to take him and his big cock and -

His fists clench hard in Liam’s hair and his hips buck up when he comes, fucking into his mouth for a few seconds when he’s nearly unaware of all his surroundings, coming harder than he thinks he ever has before (and he thinks it’s with all due respect, given the circumstances). Liam hums along with it, still taking him, swallowing around him and still finger-fucking his squirming body best he can. 

He doesn’t come down from the high even when Liam slips his fingers out of him and tucks him back into his pants, very much aware of how Liam’s still hard in his shorts and god, he feels his mouth water just at the thought of it.

Liam gets off the floor and onto the bed again, plopping down in his lap and _okay_ , yeah, Zayn can see the outline of his dick. _Zayn can see the outline of his dick_.

“Have you done this before?” Liam asks while knee-walking up towards him, legs on either side of his body and supporting himself on Zayn’s chest with the tips of his fingers.

Zayn tries not to blush when he slowly shakes his head. “No.” His eyes widen. “I mean! I’ve- I’ve been with a guy before, of course. Just-”

Lying never did go well for him.

Liam looks at him softly, though. He’d probably not scold Zayn even if he begged him to.

“Jerk me off”, he assists instead, placing his knees comfortably on either side of his shoulders. “Suck on the head. No further.”

Zayn must pout a bit when he pulls him out of his pants.

“Next time”, Liam promises him through a smile, thumb grazing his cheek.

Zayn nods and kisses the tip of the thick head, and suddenly he realises why Liam found it so hot when he saw how much precome had spurted out of him when he first went down on him. _He_ did that.

Zayn jerks his hand along his shaft; his throat feels thick, his chest tight, and he tries to just not be embarrassing and get hard again as he collects some of the slick wetness to slide along his cock. Liam looks wrecked already, eyes a bit glassy and he’s biting his lip as he looks down on Zayn. He starts thrusting his hips slightly and Zayn remembers to wrap his lips around his head. He tastes salty, thick and warm on his tongue and he flicks his eyes up to meet Liam’s. He’s rubbing his hands over his chest, watching him with big, brown, doe eyes and, _then_.

He throws his head back and moans, body quivering as Zayn feels his cum spill over his tongue, bit gross but Zayn’s on cloud nine already and swallows it rather greedily, jerking his hand lazily as Liam rides his orgasm out.

He collapses next to him, catching his breath. None of them say anything, just breathe and sigh quietly until Liam’s chest stops heaving all too violently. The spoken promise of “next time” lingers with Zayn as he composes himself, yanks his jeans up and steadies his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He sits up and is about to get up and leave - he hasn’t quite figured out whether to leave the house completely or just leave to, like, make triumphant noises to himself as he walks off his dopamine rush - but an arm catches his and he comes tumbling back down, squeals as he falls into place next to Liam.

“You’re a loud one”, Liam remarks, and Zayn’s close to blushing at the almost-insult, but then Liam smiles lopsidedly. “It’s a good thing. Need to fuck you so loud the neighbours hear, next time.”

Zayn’s eyes widen and he giggles, so startled he can’t control it, and smacks a hand on top of his mouth. But Liam just looks so _fond_ of it. So instead he removes the hand and sticks his tongue out at him. “I’d love to piss the neighbours off with you.”

_’Or Lou, just next door,’ _he thinks, smirks with it, _’playing Fifa and pining over Harry.’___

__Liam sticks his tongue out right back at him, then sneaks an arm around his shoulders with a muffled “cm’ere”, tugs him closer to his chest for him to nuzzle his nose in, still smiling._ _

__Zayn wonders, lazily, if Liam is his bro now._ _


	2. breathe me deeply into your lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut people actually asked for. I did it. Hallelu. I've added tags for what to expect in this chapter, enjoyyy and thaank youuuu and stuff

The promise of a next time lingers.

In fact, it lingers so much it eventually bubbles to the surface, spurts out all types of different emotions and makes Zayn kind of antsy, nervous to go back to Louis’ place and, really, Liam’s, he supposes now, too. Not because he’s scared to move further. Not because he's scared of anything that comes with it either or anything because like, for god’s sake, he’s fine, he lost it in the backseat of a car like three years ago with many more times to follow, he’s _got_ this. 

It’s just that, it’s kind of _weird_ , isn’t it? Liam is three years older. Three whole years, already in uni, already practically an adult with like, a large social network and a car and a, well. A _life_. Zayn is just an art nerd with the bestest best mate. Best mates don’t hook up with each others’ step brother. It’s universal bro-code, no matter how terribly Zayn has failed to follow that these past weeks turned months with his huge crush and all that. He’s truthfully been pretty shit. Because he’s even gotten to the point of being antsy for other reasons too, like how maybe the ‘next time’ is in fact a code name for the ‘ _last_ time’ also. He doesn’t know that yet, and the whole not-knowing part is what sort of really keeps him up at night. 

(That and like, masturbating to the thought of Liam. A bunch. But no one needs to know that.

No one needs to know about how Liam texted him that same night asking Zayn when he’d be back, or how Zayn had replied with a “let’s see how long you can wait x”. How Liam had said “I’ll be good” and Zayn had texted a picture of his neck, completely mauled, covered in shades of blue and red from Liam’s mouth with the caption “so good”. How Liam had replied a simple but effective “fuck” a tad bit longer than usual after having changed the status of the message from Delivered to Read. No one needs to know about how that was the last time they spoke.) 

So it was a real inner conflict that unfolded when Louis suddenly texted him about a Fifa re-match three weeks after The Great Unraveling Of All Stuffs And Things™. He'd asked him already the next day at school too, literally the first thing he did (after apologising for having to run off so suddenly, followed by the graphic details of his night with Harry’s _nice little body_ ), but like, alright. Don’t think Zayn is an arse. He’s an alright friend, after all; even took Lou for lunch, asked him to the movies (Avatar is crazy cool in 3D, despite Harry and him snogging their glasses off each other beside him), hung around the shopping centre and went on bike rides, and they were constantly bugging each other at college anyway. 

But going to his _house_?

Zayn had blamed being too busy. Couldn’t come, simple, needed to help his sister. _Aaand_ he blamed an art project the next time. Blamed his hatred for Fifa the next, causing Louis to actively ignore him for approximately twenty-four minutes straight, and he’d just mumbled something incoherent for the second-to-final time he was asked (because Louis was all love-eyes at Harry anyways, arms tangled up, all while subtly kicking Zayn's shin under the table as a silent threat to not actually comply to his request to come over, as it was just a sly and slightly less weird way to invite his crush over for a night alone. Or, well. Zayn could let him think it was less weird. It really wasn’t. It was so weird, like what the fuck.) 

He was exhausted, basically. And very, very much out of excuses.

So.

They skateboard home together that afternoon after class. It was inevitable, he thinks, as they chat about pointless things that really don't bother Zayn much at the moment. While Louis easily glides next to him over rocks and gravel with a cigarette dangling from his lips, flipping his board in the air to flawlessly get up over a new pavement curve, Zayn is having troubles even standing on his own. Suddenly he's been gifted with the balance ability and muscle strength of an eighty-two-year-old pensioner named Gertrude, flailing and shaking and tripping off his board every other second, it feels like. He's sort of struggling to breathe normally too, some sentences just exhaled as stuttering breaths in between Louis' not-so-sympathetic laughs. 

Death is coming, Zayn knows it is. Because apparently things just have to _happen_ so much all the time.

Entering the house, just after 4pm, it weirdly feels like the first time. Giddy excitement mixes with uncertainty and, just as he remembers himself asking the first time he'd come over, nervously wringing his hands on the steps as Louis fiddles with the keys, he finds himself murmuring: "Is Liam home?"

Louis beams at him. "At practice." He steps inside, tosses his gym bag on the floor and toes his sneakers off. "Shouldn't be back 'til 5, reckon."

He kicks his skateboard in to slam into the wall under the shoe rack. Zayn carefully scoots his in next to it. He clears his throat and tugs his own sneakers from his feet. "Your parents?"

"Same." Louis throws the key on the counter, then turns to him with a skeptical look. "Nervous, love?"

Zayn pretends his eyes don't widen. "Uhm."

"Promise I won't get you pregnant or anything." He pats Zayn's stomach just as he has his arms behind himself to wiggle out of his jacket, and it has him bending himself in half with an embarrassing squeak turned into a giggle because, okay, ticklish as hell and _also_ , very unfair. "No offense, babes, but if I was to have any baby daddy in the world it really wouldn't be you." He winks, allowing Zayn to collect himself. But then he's just sort of grossed out? "Now hurry the fuck up, loser! I'm winning already."

He sprints to his room as Zayn chuckles and hangs his denim jacket on a hook, then he comes sauntering in after him. Liam's door is closed, and that's all the time Zayn swears he spares to the entity that is Liam Payne before he goes into Louis' room, leaving the door open behind himself.

What Louis keeps repressing is how Zayn doesn't even like Fifa. Doesn’t matter how many times he expresses his dislike, Louis will still ask for a game. But Zayn sees no point in competing when he doesn’t even care about the shit. See, if you'd make it a speed draw competition, then we're talking. He'd beat Louis to pulp. Make it a bloody jerk off competition, and he's got enough totally-not-Liam-related material (no but really) stored in his brain to take out an entire team. He's even pretty good at skateboarding on most usual days when his heart isn't thumping in his throat like the beat of an EDM song. 

Fifa, he just sucks at. Simple. 

So he’s simultaneously losing horribly while being dragged through the mud by Louis’ sharp tongue when he hears the front door close. 

He snaps his head up, and he swears everything goes silent.

Even when he sees him he’s somehow still hoping he’s seeing it wrong, that his glasses are smudged and it’s one of their parents. One of their parents coming to give him treats and the usual compliments of how good and tidy he is compared to his friend and how he shouldn’t have to put up with all this shit-- but of course God rains on his parade. _Pisses_ on it, more like. 

Liam looks. Extraordinarily handsome? The clothes are the usual, the boringass gym outfit with the white tank top and matching shorts that somehow work so well on him, that cling to the curve of his thick bum and shows off his fantastic biceps and shoulders. But his hair, his hair is still shower soft, so _soft_ and wet at the ends and Zayn can just _feel_ his heat, from all over there he can feel his warm skin, the sports shower gel and musky cologne he knows he uses, can feel the waterdrops in the tips of his hair and can _see_ how he looked with the tendrils of water running down his back in the locker room shower, one hand against the tile wall and head tipped forward, and-

Zayn doesn’t realise how he hasn’t been breathing until he’s taking a long, shaky breath and forcing his eyes back to the screen. He feels himself get hot, his ears burning but then, then it collects in his lap. He curses himself, knows he needs to start thinking about something else, his grandmother, Fifa, _Louis_ , but he _can’t_ , because Liam would be grunting softly, other hand wrapped around his fat cock - and Zayn knows what it looks like now, knows how hard he gets and what he feels like, what he tastes like - jerking himself off furiously and trying to finish before the other boys come in, his thighs weak after the practice but determined, so close, dick twitching in his hand, _and_.

 _And_. 

Zayn’s hard. 

Did he really just…? He looks down. Yep. Yep, he really just. He really just did that.

Fumbling for a pillow, he doesn’t find one. He can’t move much without Louis potentially noticing and Liam is about to be done taking his shoes off, about to come over and Zayn can’t really _not_ make it any more uncomfortable for himself, so he just flips onto his stomach. He panics and he flips onto his stomach alright, and it’s the stupidest decision ever and suddenly his dick is trapped very uncomfortably but also very unfortunately _pleasurably_ against his thigh and the hard floor, and he just barely manages to bite back a whimper.

It’s throbbing and only swelling more against the denim and hardwood floor by the time Liam is stopping by the doorstep, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a big smirk on his face.

“Louis”, he greets simply, and Louis grunts back as a reply, just as simply, busy leaning his whole body with the movement of his character on the screen. When Liam’s eyes move to Zayn, he melts his entire universe. His smile reaches his big brown eyes when he murmurs: “Zayn.”

And Zayn. Squeaks.

He clears his throat angrily, shaking his head. Liam chuckles and Zayn has to shift on the floor, move his legs weirdly so that he’s putting more weight on his knees and elbows and less on his dick, and _fuck him if Liam’s eyes don’t drift to his butt suddenly accidentally jutting upwards_ before he can settle for a: “Liam! Hi.”

“Hi”, Liam echoes. Eyes still fixated, he licks his lips. He hums a bit as he slowly backs out. “See you later, boys.”

He leaves for his own room, closing the door. Zayn hears him drop his bag and flop onto his bed. Then he calmly looks back to the screen, slowly tries to process what the hell just happened, taking it in very small steps until he can finally draw the conclusion that Zayn absolutely got and still very much has a boner, Liam definitely looked at his ass, and Louis positively saw none of it.

Also, he fucking _squeaked_.

He wants to sink through the floor but it’s made of like, way too hard wood for that. He almost snorts because he knows all too well of something else that’s also made out of very hard wood at the moment. 

He moves again, tries to put less pressure on his aching crotch but _god_ , then he’s reminded of something else, something along the lines of the doggystyle position, something along the lines of Liam walking in on him on his elbows and knees fucking _waiting_ for him, _ready_ for him, to take him, Liam getting over and leaning over him to kiss him, tug on his hair to reach his mouth, while lubing him up then rubbing the head of his cock against his entrance and--

His phone buzzes with a text.

Unsurprisingly, it’s from Liam. Zayn still stops breathing for a moment because _it’s from Liam for fucks sake_. 

When he opens it, it sort of has all his nerve endings suffering an electric shortage. It’s a picture, but. It’s… abs. Gym shorts. But the gym shorts are down? It’s a hand taking up the middle of the shot, sun kissed skin, wrapped around…

The caption says “look what you did.” 

Zayn can’t breathe. 

Zayn ends up having to excuse himself to the bathroom.

He pushes the thought of asking for a shower so he can have a wank out of the way, because there’s no reason for him to. While Louis mildly _reeks_ beside him because he hates the locker room showers, Zayn didn’t even participate in PE when he still was forced to. They got graded by just sitting on the bleachers and if they naturally looked like they were kind of fit, anyway… and Zayn always had a bit of a twink body type, he likes to think. While he used to be made fun of for it, he genuinely enjoys thinking that, now. He sure wonders why.

So instead of a wank, he sits on the toilet lid and tries to force his boner away merely by the power of thoughts. He ends up sitting there tapping his foot and angrily thinking about all the school work he should be doing right now instead, blood boiling and body screaming _Liam, Liam, Liam is hard for you, Liam is wanking to the thought of you just like 10 feet away and you can’t go to him because he’s your best friend’s step brother_ , until it’s probably been way over ten minutes and therefore way more awkward than it had to be, and he hears their parents come home. It’s almost completely gone down, somehow, because god does school actually stress him out. So he hurries out to greet them, hiding his bottom half behind counters, them being ever so happily surprised to see him. 

He stays in the kitchen and helps them unpack their grocery bags because it’s the perfect distraction to help his semi calm the fuck down. And while he totally does have a praise kink, their mum isn’t the one he’d like to be receiving it from, believe it or not.

Louis is on his phone looking just about knackered when Zayn goes back to the room as their parents finish up making dinner, telling him it’ll be five minutes. When he closes the door behind himself, Louis looks up with a fake-angry glare. “Took you so long?”

“Helped your folks,” he shrugs, trying to cover up the fact he was gone for longer before that.

Louis rolls his eyes excessively, arching his upper lip.

“Texting your love then, are you?” Zayn mocks back, sitting down on the bed.

Louis’ entire face distorts into a mischievous grin. “Ay up. Think we’re almost at like third base now or, like… what’s the base when you fuck?” Zayn makes a gagging noise. “No, yeah. We’re definitely at _that_ stage, if you know what I mean. But you just wait ‘til you see Harry walking around with a limp in school, you’ll know exactly what happened.”

“Always took you for being a bottom,” Zayn pouts thoughtfully, but still, he’s very grossed out. Then he shares a secret smile to no one but himself at the fact even him and Liam have gotten further than his best mate’s poor virgin soul. Not that it’s a competition. Louis and Harry are just so _weird_.

“Are you objectifying me and my magnificent bum, Zaynie?” Louis exclaims, one hand on his chest, bewildered, the other one smacking his butt. “I’d have to say the same about you, to be quite honest. Shame you’re straight. Could have hooked you up with so many hot hunks.”

“I quite appreciate sitting down, thanks very much,” Zayn starts to counter, but then he hears Liam’s bed shift. And he totally forgot he can totally hear them when they raise their voices like this and _fuck fuck fuck that’s not good_. “I er, I mean, you know… When you like, find the right--” he pushes his glasses up, “person!… When you find the right person.” Louis tilts his head to the side. “Um. I think, it just… You know.”

“Food’s ready, boys!” calls their mum from the kitchen then, saving Zayn from suffering a third degree burn from blushing so damn hard. 

He’s speaking in tongues. Speaking like Harry. Something horrible in between, probably, minus the Cheshire drawl, plus some extra weirdness. 

He wants to just pound his head against the wall for a few hours. That might be nice.

“Hey,” Louis says then, uncharacteristically gently, bumping his shoulder as he passes him. Zayn has to bashfully meet his eyes. “Haz always said to not knock it until you tried it. And we’re trying it, aren’t we? No need to feel awkward. Do you, man.” He pokes his chest. “Whatever your wee little heart may desire. I’m here for you every step, man.”

And how the fuck is that supposed to be interpreted when it’s coming from a Louis Buddha Tomlinson?

He only has time to smile at him, a little confused, and then said Buddha races him the approximately ten steps to the kitchen. Even Liam beats him to it, and as Zayn stops to just proper _ogle_ him - face flushed and dopey smiled, freshly washed Adidas bottoms and white v-neck tank top that leave a trail of apple-scented detergent in the air - he’s also faced with... oh god.

The only spot left is right next to him.

Zayn hasn’t actually had to have the disadvantage of having dinner with Liam much before this. There’s been maybe, two times? When Zayn had quickly picked a spot opposite him without ever being directly opposite and also pointedly avoiding eye contact.

 _This_. 

_This_ is just _ridiculous_.

“You can sit here, Zaynie,” Louis chirps from his safe corner seat, spooning up pasta sauce. “Liam don’t bite, do you, brother dearest?”

Zayn could fucking combust at any moment.

The look Liam sends him then doesn’t make matters any better. Not when he drops his voice lower, acting casual but really, _fuck_ , Zayn _knows_ what’s up. “Unless you ask nicely.”

“Liam!” their mum chastises, sitting down and covering Zayn’s view of him. It helps him compose himself, only so slightly. At least he can tear his eyes away. At least he still has control left of that much of himself. “Be good. Switch places with Lou now, dear, so poor Zayn won’t be uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn pipes up in a sudden burst of completely lost self control. He walks closer and fuck, there he is again. Liam. _Watching_. “Uh. Thanks, though.”

He slips down into the chair, their mum smiling fondly at him before reaching the pasta ladle to him. “Anything you want, love, you can have it.”

Zayn is _not_ going to ask her for her son. That conversation is for another time. Or, never.

He ladles up a fair amount of pasta, the perfect amount without seeming either greedy, starving or dying, though he thinks he is at least one of the three. When he passes it on to Liam, the older boy makes a point of making their hands touch, and damn it all to hell, because he just jerked off to Zayn with that hand. He probably just came in that hand, thinking about him, what he wanted to do to him. And Zayn wants him to do absolutely _everything_. But how will he ever get the _chance_? House full of people, and Zayn made himself a damn promise. Bro code. Bro code goes before Liam driving him mad. 

Thing is. Thing is, there is no way to make eating pasta and sauce attractive. But he’s sure Liam will somehow succeed. At least with Zayn’s current state of mind, he will. Maybe score a few basketball points with his meatballs, bring the team home, look hot as all hell jumping ropes with spaghetti. 

He has actually lost his mind. 

Their parents start blabbing on about work and school while they fork up pasta. Zayn is an introvert at the best of times, and when they ask him about how school is going for him, he can’t help but feel nervous as everyone’s attention is focused on him.

“Some exams at the moment, ‘s not too bad,” he says nonchalantly the best he can, stabbing his pasta. “New projects constantly. Fun to keep myself occupied though.”

Liam is uncharacteristically quiet. In the beginning of his visits he’d slip Zayn  
tiny, genuinely interested questions about how it is to take art, what subjects he reads beside it and all that. If he just draws all day and if he can see anything he’s done. (He never showed him.)

Instead it’s their dad that points his fork at him. “You have a brilliant mind, you do. What are you planning on doing after college?”

“Oh, uh, that’s a work in progress, really. Was thinking I’d apply for uni, obviously, but if that doesn’t work out I won’t be devastated or anything. I’d just look for a job.”

“And what would you like to study?”

“Well, I’m a little tired of art at this point, to be honest. I was thinking mayb- _ah_.”

And, oh. Okay. As if this entire afternoon wasn’t already the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him…

He doesn’t have to look down to know. Something is touching him. His thigh, more specifically. And to be expertly precise, it is in fact Liam bloody Payne’s hand that’s suddenly wrapped itself around his thigh, just above his knee.

It just lies there, warm, heavy, and Zayn’s mind is spinning. He doesn’t know what to do. What he was doing. Was he talking? What was he talking about?

“Excuse me.” He coughs into his hand. He ignores the looks. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. “Um. Was just- right, so I’ve been thinking about teaching. Studying to becoming a teacher I mean. For primary, maybe.”

“Really, now?” their father says, eyebrows shooting up in content surprise.

“That must be very difficult, love,” their mum says. “What with all the grading, taking care of children. And all that reading, gosh.”

“Yeah, absolutely, but I think I’d kind of like keeping myself busy like that-” Liam slides higher, squeezes; Zayn hiccups and bites back another sound, “and stuff, um. Yeah, so. I think it could be- could be nice.”

“We do need some good teachers in our schools,” their dad muses while turned to his wife, neither of them noticing as Zayn jolts when Liam’s hand slides all the way up to his hipbone in one swift motion, curving towards the inside of his thigh. Louis is occupied practically laying his face in his plate. “Our future, they are.”

“The children or the young gentlemen choosing to take care of the children?” their mum asks with a smirk, but doesn’t wait for a response before she turns back to Zayn who meets her gaze bulgy-eyed. “I think you’re a hero for even considering it, really.”

Zayn flushes. Liam grips him tighter. “Oh. Thank you.”

She waves him off with a soft smile. She turns to Louis instead. “So why don’t _you_ tell us what you’re planning on doing when you’ve graduated?” she asks, and Louis groans.

Zayn carefully shifts his eyes to glance at Liam. Liam is not bothered. Not even the slightest. One hand on Zayn’s thigh, the other one is still holding his fork, he looks engulfed by the conversation, face rather blank but still somewhat interested, nodding to a few words. But when he slow blinks and looks over to Zayn with eyes that scream sex, sex, _sex_ , Zayn has to turn his head away, granting him another squeeze which makes him gasp to absolutely no one’s surprise, covering it up by turning it into yawn into his fist. That whole sinking-through-the-floor thing can gladly commence right now, should there ever be a perfect time to start defying physics. 

He’s getting hard again, is the thing. Or, well. He _is_ hard, though he’d rather not admit that. Yes, he’s in a room full of people but also, his crush and currently the hottest person he knows is right now feeling him up underneath the table like he fucking owns him, and his poor horny 16-year-old body simply can’t handle such things. He wants them all to disappear so he can jump up into Liam’s lap, hump and grind on him, ride him as Liam fucks into him, have him bend him over the table with cutlery and pots flying to the floor, fuck into him and make him his, his, his.

Well. Those visuals don’t make his situation any better.

He can’t exactly leave either. They’d all look at him, and see. Liam could be caught. Zayn could be permanently banned from entering a five meter radius from his best mate for eternity. 

That wasn’t on his list of things to do today.

So. He bites the bullet. 

And he may have rather been biting Liam’s sheets at this point as he’d push his big, fat cock into him with a loud moan, Zayn’s hands tied to the bedpost and perhaps a blindfold over his eyes, but. This is fine too. It’s okay.

After dinner, he has to wait for them all to leave, yet Liam’s hand never leaves his thigh until they walk around the table to load the dishwasher. But, of course, questions rise when they’re the only ones left at the table.

“Done, babes?” Louis asks him, having stopped in his doorway upon realising his loyal puppy was not in fact following him. He squints and tilts his head. “Are you alright?” 

Liam grins. Zayn whimpers.

“Yeah!” He clears his throat. There’s really only one option left. He’s embarrassed himself enough for one night. “Sorry, um. Actually, I think I might want to go home now. Got lots of exams coming up and all that.”

“Oh, come on, now,” Louis whines, thumping his feet like a grumpy toddler. “We’ll just play a little more. You have all weekend to study!” He gestures out the window. “Besides, innit better you stay over? ‘S too dark to take the skateboard.”

“I’ll drive him,” Liam suddenly rumbles and stands up.

Zayn is relieved Liam stood up. This means Liam is leaving. But then he realises-

Wait. Did he really just?

“You wha’?” Louis exclaims, and Zayn can only agree. 

“It’s no problem, honest,” says Liam as he straightens up. “What’s the point of having a car if it’s just stood collecting dust? Let’s live a little.”

“That’s your reasoning, now?” Louis scoffs.

“Well, I…” Liam shrugs a little, Zayn registers though he’s still staring straight ahead at Louis. “I don’t want him to go alone any more than you do,” he admits, arms falling to his side. He looks down to Zayn. “Can’t get you in trouble, can I?”

Louis just narrows his eyes comically. “ _My_ friend, Li. Get your own.”

But. Zayn. Zayn is…

It’s in that moment he decides bro code can go fuck itself.

“It’s fine,” he rushes to say, no fucking clue what he’s really doing, and he feels like a bloody idiot for still sitting down while Liam is stood behind his chair and Louis is balancing on the doorstep to his bedroom still. “I mean, it’s too dark to go alone, really.”

Then Zayn feels Liam’s hand on his shoulder. A simple gesture that does nothing to help his raging teenage boner. “Promise I’ll take proper good care of you.”

 _Fuck it all to fucking hell_.

Louis furrows his brow. He is not pleased. 

Zayn points behind him. He tries _so hard_ not to stutter. “Babe, could you get me my hoodie, please?”

When Louis turns around into the room, Zayn makes a run for it. He sprints out into the hall and grabs his jean jacket off the hook, pulling it on and hugging it tightly around himself to cover himself up, having grabbed his skateboard off the floor by the time he hears Louis mumble: “Did you even have a hoodie…?”

Liam enters the hall, grins at him, and Zayn probably looks up at him like he’s the movie star hunk he has pictures of on his walls to which he occasionally (mostly) wanks to. Only half of it is false.

He snaps out of it and they both toe their shoes on, and Zayn yells over his shoulder. “Nevermind, Lou, I got it!” He opens the door before Liam’s even got his jacket properly on. “See you monday. Text me!”

“ _You_ text _me_ ,” Louis corrects, padding out to the front door as they rush to the car. “Oi! This isn’t a Cinderella mission. You get him home safely before midnight now, brother dearest, or I’m locking your ass out.” 

He points an accusing finger at Liam, and Liam just happily waves. “Back soon, Loubear.”

They don’t hear the on the spot curses that come flying his way over the nickname as they back out of the driveway and out on the road. Zayn realises he’s not even told Liam any directions as they head out on the main road.

He also realises, to his horror, how he’s in Liam bloody Payne’s car. 

Why? And how? And mostly, what the fuck?

It’s not a bad car. No posh leather or anything, but soft seats, proper dashboard. A humming engine. Steering wheel. Windows are good to have.

Liam is the one who speaks first. “Music?”

Zayn just. Stares. He might be dying? It’s dark out, a blue glow on Liam’s usually tan face, flickering gold in the passing street lamps. He can’t believe this. Zayn wants him, Liam wants him back, and they’re finally actually alone. 

What the fuck.

Liam glances over at him in his silent state of shock. No fucking compassion in that boy. “Alright,” he drags out, nodding with his lips in a thoughtful pout. “No music. That’s cool.”

And Zayn is still hard. Painfully hard, from those stupid damn hands touching him, those stupid damn hands that are now drumming calmly on the steering wheel, gripping tight like they should be gripping his thigh, his cock. Both of their cocks. Sliding together. 

Car sex.

It had to end with car sex. 

They enter a forested area. It’s still in the right direction to his house and all, but while a ninth of Zayn lazily wonders if Liam already looked his address up online or something (at this point he finds himself not even minding the borderline possessive behaviour), the rest of his brain is a whirring mess close to overheating. “You don’t even know where you’re going.”

Liam pouts more. “I don’t,” he admits.

“I really need to touch you.”

Liam yanks his head to the side. Eyes wide. “Fucking _what_?”

Zayn is practically shaking in his seat. “If you don’t want to cause an accident I think you should probably pull over.”

He doesn’t waste any time after that. He pulls his seatbelt out, then shifts and leans to the right over Liam’s lap, quick swift movements that has him suddenly hovering over his cock. 

Liam takes a deep breath. Zayn leans his face down.

Motor whirring much like the white noise of Zayn’s thoughts, spitting out a concoction of _what are you doing_ mixed with _want him, want him, want him_ , he mouths over the growing bulge in Liam’s joggers. He sends a tiny prayer there’s no speed bumps ahead as he tongues with the material, nibbling most playfully, then brings a hand up to pull them down a bit. Then he can breathe hot breath over his skin.

“Fuck,” Liam mutters somewhere above him, breathing speeding up as Zayn feels him turn left on another road with as much carefulness as he can muster given their current situation. Which, given their current situation, isn’t careful at all and it tugs Zayn towards him a bit, to which he can’t help but imagine what a fantastic deepthroat gag it would have caused had he undone his boxers just a tad bit quicker. “Shit, sorry. Christ.”

The car roars to a halt, Liam flicking the key as the motor turns off, and then he tugs Zayn up by his shirt. His glasses have fogged up a bit, and Liam gives him this long, serious look as Zayn stares at him with wet, parted lips. Then Liam kisses him.

He more than kisses him. He climbs out of his seat, straddles him with his legs opening up his thighs as Zayn whimpers.

Zayn fumbles blindly for him, eyes shut tightly and kiss quickly turning desperate, needy. Wet and open, they wrestle with their tongues as Zayn wraps his legs around Liam’s, pulling him in closer.

When he thinks Liam is reaching for his dick tenting in his too tight black skinnies, he falls backwards. He falls, and he maybe shrieks a bit. Liam, the absolute asshole, pulled the little lever to make his seat fall back and, oh. Now he’s lying down. Hot and panting with his tee riding up and Liam is towering above him.

“Oh,” he says aloud, too, lips staying as their o-shape for a bit. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Full of surprises,” Liam murmurs and leans down over him, kissing the spot on his neck that feels the best as Zayn’s eyes flutter shut. 

It’s such a lame comeback but somehow Zayn fully believes him. 

“It’s fine though, right?” he asks then, eyebrows knitting together in momentary concern. There’s something so lovingly protective in his eyes. “You’re okay?”

Zayn is breathless. He nods.

Because, there’s just. So much he wants with Liam. So many scenarios from too many wanking sessions. Marking and love bites is definitely in the top 10 somewhere on the checklist, so he more than moans a little bit when Liam grins and tugs his collar down to start kissing down the side of his neck and sucking over his collarbones. He mumbles something into his skin, something awfully close to the lines of “fuck, you’re so hot”.

The feeling and the words go straight to his dick. It’s stirring in his too tight pants, leaking precum and he closes his legs tighter around Liam’s middle, beckoning him closer as Liam sucks harder. Zayn wants everyone to know what he did to him. Wants everyone to see how good he makes him feel, and how Zayn is all his to do whatever he wants with. 

But it’s also the fact of the matter that he can choose not to. Keep the marks covered, wear tight collars and scarves and hoodies and never let anyone know. Their secret. Liam would still be the same amount his, and Zayn would still be Liam’s. He’s his.

Just so slightly more needy, he runs his hands up Liam’s back under his jacket. Shirt riding up, he presses his blunt fingernails into the skin and scratches along the way, leaving red welts in his wake. Liam grinds down on him. He’s almost shimmied out of his joggers, and Zayn may gasp but the contact is still too little. Far too little. He starts quickly unbuttoning his own jeans and shuffles them down, Liam grinding down against him again and they both emit throaty groans.

He wants to call Liam out on being impatient, but the words get stuck in his throat. Because he’s being impatient too, knows that he is, and besides, he probably has the speaking ability of a powdered donut right about now anyways. So he resorts to making tiny whining noises whenever Liam grinds against him, slow and determined, sucking so hard on his neck it hurts. But that’s what he likes about it.

The grinding finds a steady pace, and from the shallow breaths now panted out in the crook of his neck, and the hot feeling squirming in his own tummy, he knows they could come from this.

He could, hypothetically, come in his underwear, any moment now, hot and wet with Liam on top of him and he’d feel him suck in a breath and hold it, so beautiful and completely out of it, then twitch as he’d come too, moaning loud all throughout the aftershocks of it, grind it out jerkily and sloppily. They could lie entangled and catch their breaths together, then pull back, laugh awkwardly, red-cheeked and blissfully exhausted with sex-tousled hair, just a little bit too warm and sticky to be comfortable but still, quite comfortable. He could have Liam drive him home, say their goodbyes through the open window of the car, linger for a kiss that would never come, and he’d walk up to his house as he’d hear Liam speed off, through the door and up the stairs for a shower, go to bed and probably have a furious, sad and mostly desperate wank because _he still didn’t get Liam bloody Payne to screw his brains out_. 

But he doesn’t really… want that.

“Fuck me.” He digs his fingers into Liam’s skin, sure the red scratches will cover his whole back. Follow the lines of his toned muscles and tanned glistening skin and, god, he needs to throw some love bites in there as well. Whenever he gets the chance. He just needs to. “Don’t want to- uhm.”

“Don’t want to let me go without it, do you?” Liam smirks into his neck, licking hotly over a soon-to-be-bruise on his neck. And, fuck. That’s hot. Liam ruining him and then patching him back up? Yeah, that part, that’s pretty good. “Same. I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about it.”

Zayn hums curiously as a prompt for him to continue, coming out all light and whiny as Liam grips him tighter, manhandling him in just the right ways to make his dick swell even more in his pants. 

“Been thinking about you lots, if I’m honest,” he murmurs into his skin, and Zayn bites back a moan. “Very distracting, you are. And god, earlier? You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Zayn tries to grasp in his memory, landing somewhere in between him having a nervous breakdown at the doorstep and Liam teasing him under the dinner table. Something about a dick pic? Something about him maybe accidentally teasing Liam?

“Was just-” Zayn gulps, unsure of whether he should tell Liam how it really was. Why should he? But then again, of course he will. “Uh, it’s. Embarrassing, but. Got myself a little hot and bothered, I guess.”

Now it’s Liam who prompts him with a hum, more surprised, and Zayn can just hear the eyebrow raise in his tone.

“Thought about… you, really. When you walked through the door, was a little… um. Fuck. You’re just so fit.” His hands leave the masterpiece he’s creating on his back for a moment, grazing along his arms. His muscles flex under his touch. “Just. Want you to do so much to me.” _Make me feel good. Tell me I’m pretty and leave lovebites along my collarbones. Bend me over and fuck me until I’m screaming. Lift me up or pin me down, just touch me again_. “And. I think you could.” 

Liam makes a growling noise close to his ear, sinks his teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to make Zayn gasp and grip his arms. “Can’t believe you. Want you all the time. I get so jealous, honestly, knowing you’re out there just existing with other people, getting to see you, and touch you. Then I find you looking that beautiful next to my _step brother_ ,” and it’s like he presses himself closer to Zayn, as if that was even possible to do to begin with. “I was about to lose it.”

“Only want you,” Zayn whispers. He runs a hand up Liam’s back, up his neck and through his hair. “Want you so bad.”

“Fuck,” is all Liam says before slamming their lips together again, tongue and teeth and hands cupping faces or running through their hair. Liam pulls away with a smack. “What was that you said earlier? What do you want me to do to you?”

Zayn can feel how his eyes are big and glassy already. “Want you to fuck me.” They both meet the next kiss with tongue first. When Liam pulls away that time, it’s to open the glove compartment. “Want you to take me nice and slow, then harder, as hard and fast as you can go. Bite me, tug my hair, do anything you want.” Liam looks back at him, he looks a bit wrecked already himself. “Then slow again.”

“Get you begging,” Liam fills in, voice hoarse. He shakes a bit when he produces lube and a condom; he came prepared. He slams the lid closed and turns back. “Begging to go rough again.”

Zayn hums breathily in agreement. His eyes are set on the things in his hands. Liam’s are set on him.

“Take your pants off.”

Zayn does. He shimmies out of his boxers, hard cock slapping up against his tummy, making him hiss. 

“God,” Liam breathes, soaking him in. It burns Zayn’s skin. “Just… so amazing.”

He uncaps the lube and smears it over his index finger as he watches Zayn. Zayn intently watches him right back, through the dark eyelashes of his half lidded eyes, chewing distractedly on his already swollen lip.

“Just want to stretch you,” Liam whispers, and Zayn shudders. He lies down between his legs and leans up on his elbows. “Just one finger, okay? To start with. Really careful.”

Zayn nods. He doesn’t tell Liam about how he’s been finger fucking himself lately. Like, a lot. Like, he doesn’t have lube or anything, not yet (because he’s totally not committing to this whole, what, bisexual? Thing? Because it’s probably just Liam he’s mesmerized by anyway), but there’s always sticking your fingers in your mouth, and there’s always showers. Oh, such long, steamy, glorious showers. He’s actually really running low on shower soap.

Liam drizzles some lube over his hole, and Zayn jerks a bit at the cold but tries to keep his hips from bucking too much when Liam teases him, sliding up and down before pushing in. Gently and slowly, the burn from the stretch barely noticeable with how generous with lube he’s been, and how Zayn’s entire body already basically feels the same texture as boiled spaghetti. Worthlessly, he lies back and watches as Liam slides his finger in and out of him, then twisting and screwing, eyes darting up to meet Liam’s ever so often, which are searching his face to see if he likes it. Zayn’s small gasps should say the lot. 

“I’ll do two,” Liam murmurs, and he’s already pushing his middle one in alongside it. Zayn’s hand slides up the side of his neck to fist in his hair, lips forever parted. “This okay? It’s good?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn moans, surprised at himself because, that sounded like such a porn video sample? “So good. You can keep going.”

Liam kisses his thigh as he scissors his fingers. “Fuck. You’re taking it so well.”

Zayn tries to remember last time - how many did he manage? He’s done three himself, a couple times now (yes, there’s been more than _a few_ occassions) so he’d be quite disappointed if they didn’t get that far this time. He’s going for the real deal now anyways, so he has to be prepared.

Oh, god. He’s actually going to have Liam bloody Payne inside of him.

Liam bloody Payne pours a dab more lube onto his fingers, then he starts circling his ring finger. He’s nuzzling into his thigh now, the scruff he’s allowed to grow slightly burning his skin as he sucks a mark and his teeth nibble for him. Zayn is about to scream at him to please hurry up, then he starts pushing in, curling them, and Zayn’s head falls back.

“Okay?” Liam asks immediately, and fuck, Zayn never knew how much he needed someone to be protective over him and not the other way around. But fuck gender roles.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, grabbing for his dick and lazily stroking. “ _Fuck_.”

He pumps his fingers in and out, not fast, not hard, just enough; a slow pull and push that’s enough to keep him on the edge, but nothing more than that. Zayn’s head is actually spinning.

Then Liam’s fingers curl just right, just like that and then there’s - _oh_. He actually jerks from the seat and moans and whimpers and, god knows what else because it feels _amazing_ , like there’s fire in his tummy and jelly in his legs and it never felt like that before, like all the air is sucked out of him and it’s just pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. He thinks he’s probably chanting Liam’s name under his breath like it’s the only word he knows, because he’s so close his cock is leaking and twitching and he’s actually about to start begging and he doesn’t even barely know where he is anymore. 

“Such a good boy, taking it so well,” Liam muses, like he can hear the secrets he keeps. He pecks the sore spot he just left a love bite on. “Need you properly stretched. Want four?”

Four. Four sounds a lot. Four sounds absolutely fucking brilliant.

He nods quickly, but Liam just hums.

“So good to me, so pretty. Got a better idea.”

He suddenly pulls out, Zayn wincing as he’s yanked out of his paradise. It’s like blinking awake from a dream whilst Liam sits up and hooks his arms under the back of Zayn’s knees. Zayn thinks it’s to pull his bum closer - maybe Liam will attempt to go in now, how would he know - but then he feels his gravity shift yet again. He yelps, dragged down the seat as Liam lifts his bottom half, hooking his legs around his shoulders to which Zayn holds on to for dear life.

He’s pressed a bit against the seat, his upper body from his shoulder blades up resting, the rest in the air or supported by Liam as he holds him still by the waist. And suddenly those hands are parting his ass.

Zayn draws a sharp breath because, like, what. What? 

He doesn’t say it aloud, just bites his lip and watches intensely as Liam breathes hot breath over him, over his hole. He flicks his gaze up, looking down at him, then sticks his tongue out to graze him.

_What._

No one’s ever done this to him before. He’s heard his fair share about rimming, read about it, watched some videos (and he never thought he’d use Pornhub’s gay section, what a laugh), but never tried it.

Liam is splitting him in two. His fingers are kneading deep into his cheeks as he licks around, into him, lapping with flat, wet and warm strokes as little grunting noises leave his throat. Zayn doesn’t realise until he’s gripping helplessly for Liam’s arms that half the sounds, the small and desperate whimpers bouncing around the small space, are his own.

“Oh, my god, Liam,” he keens, like it explains everything he’s ever wanted to say. He thinks everything he feels is summed up by just that. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

It’s so much better than fingers. Not hard and determined but soft, wet, warm, teasing, a dribble of spit running down Liam’s chin as he mouths and licks, adoring him like he means the world to him, and that’s probably what really does it for Zayn.

“I’m gonna come,” he whimpers, barely audible, but of course Liam hears it, and of course he stops.

“Want me to do you still?” he asks, actually waiting for his reply before letting Zayn down to rest fully on his back. As if Zayn would have changed his mind after _that_.

He stills the hand on his dick, struggles how to remember the words. “Yeah.” He digs his heels into Liam’s back as he lowers him. “Fuck,” he throws in just for good measure.

Liam smirks at him and grabs the condom, ripping the wrapper and taking himself out of his boxers, rolling it onto himself. Zayn stares, offended by his arm muscles, his dark eyes, his thick, leaking cock. The entirety of the act, really. It’s simply unfair.

Before Liam even lines himself up with him, he squeezes out more lube over Zayn’s hole, running his thumb along and pushing it inside. Zayn can’t help feeling like quite the slut from how easily it slips inside, how warm and open he is for Liam, so ready to take him. He’s been ready for far too long. 

When Liam does line himself up, he squirts out even more lube and runs it along himself, and Zayn catches the moment when Liam tries to suppress how good it feels to be touching himself finally, but his eyes roll back before they close, mouth a tight line as he jerks himself off sloppily, lubing himself up. He’s so hard and slick and god, Zayn would suck him like an ice lolly if he didn’t know he was going better places. 

Then Zayn feels the pressure of him against his entrance, and he gasps and braces himself by grabbing the arm rest of the back seat’s door - _oh god, it’s finally going to happen_ \- but Liam never pushes in. He slides his dick up and down, wet sounds as he teases his hole, the hot and hard head merely grazing his sensitive skin.

Zayn is on the verge of exploding, and the remote control with the comically big, red button is in Liam’s possession.

He’s shuddering, pretty much his constant state of being, as Liam keeps teasing, slipping, gripping Zayn’s thigh wrapped around his waist. It rips out of him. “ _Please_.”

Liam darts his eyes up at him. And they’re so mischievous. Then he looks down again, grips his waist, and starts pushing in.

It really isn’t bad, not with how open he already is, but it isn’t really that fantastic either. It takes him a moment to recall that, god, okay, right. This is Liam’s cock inside him. Liam is stretching him open, feeling so good from his tightness. Alright, that’s fine. _Wow._

He focuses on Liam’s face rather than the scary sensation of his hard length splitting him open, and god, he’s like etched in marble, so beautiful and blissful. His red lips are swollen and wet and open, and Zayn wants to kiss him, wants to touch, touch everywhere, wants him to start rocking his hips so Zayn can finally come.

“Please,” Zayn says again, merely a broken sob. It makes Liam let out a rough, shuddering breath he was apparently holding. He’s sunk in all the way now, balls deep and Zayn squirms, tries not to pant. “Liam.”

“Please what?” Liam asks, but he knows, because he starts dragging out again and Zayn winces. “I’m sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“No,” Zayn says, and it’s truthful. “Keep going. Do whatever you want.”

There’s a moment Zayn takes to reflect on how this is the guy he’s been swooning over for the past six months or so that he’s giving everything up to. Such a long time he’s thought they could never be, well, a thing? 

And, yet. Here they are. The climax of the full HD porn video, with plot, without cheesy background soundtrack.

Liam leans down over him, elbows on each side of his body as Zayn grips tighter with his legs around Liam’s waist. “Tell me if you want to stop, please,” Liam says. “I don’t want to hurt you. This has to feel good for you too.”

“It does,” Zayn assures him in a whisper, tangling a hand in his short hair. “Go on. Want it hard.”

Liam looks stunned for a second, then quickly leans down to kiss him. Zayn tries to keep him there, but he breaks off again to speak more. “Touch yourself. I’m not going to last long.” He pecks his lips again, like it’s an excuse. “You’re too…” And he leans his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck, and starts rabbiting his thrusts. “ _Beautiful_.”

Zayn hitches on his breath. He claws helplessly at Liam’s back as he stares up at the ceiling and, god, is he already coming? No, but what the hell, it feels so good, warmth in his entire body and he can’t _breathe_ , legs twitching weak and the edges of his vision whiting out.

He remembers a thought from last time, though he’s swimming in between consciousness and an orgasm, he feels for his tummy, lays his hand flat and _fuck_ , yep, there it is. Bulging up from Liam’s cock each time he thrusts into him, his body too small to take him. It happened. 

He feels Liam’s teeth in his skin and his hands tugging his hair when Zayn’s fingers finally brush his cock and he makes a noise he’s sure he’s never made before, mewling and already so spent, but high strung all the same, and he grabs himself, probably only strokes two, three times before he comes, shooting up his tummy and chest and he arches his back, moaning and whimpering and trying to just remain mostly sane as Liam keeps thumping his prostate. 

When he’s back to reality he feels Liam plant wet kisses to his neck, but he’s still thrusting; he hasn’t come yet. Zayn squirms, oddly sensitive, and he pushes at Liam’s shoulders. “Let me blow you,” he begs, sounding so wrecked but for some reason, his whole body is screaming to touch him.

Liam hums something and sits back up, skin glistening and face flushed like Zayn’s favourite state of Liam when he’s been working out, and they both hiss as he pulls out of him. He pulls the condom off and cranks the window down to chuck it outside. Zayn can’t bother to lecture him about the environment and proper recycling because he’s busy pushing Liam back into the passenger seat, hovering over his lap as Liam settles with startled laughter. They end abruptly as Zayn takes him into his mouth. 

“God, babe,” Liam murmurs, running his hand through his tousled up hair and Zayn wants to impress him. He doesn’t know if he’s had experience with guys (maybe all his superior knowledge just comes from the whole _I go to uni and have a car and a life_ thing), but if not his first then he still wants to at least be his best. The best blowjob, the best mouth, taking him the furthest down, the tightest, the quickest.

But Liam is already pulling at his hair and telling him to pull off, and Zayn groans inwardly. He won’t. He sucks him as deep as he can, deliberately getting an excessive amount of spit over him to use to jerk him off. He bobs his head, swirls his tongue, does everything he thinks he’s meant to do and - Liam moans loudly as he comes, shooting into his mouth as Zayn laps it up, jerking him off through the aftershocks as Liam shudders and twitches and tugs lazily on his hair.

He pops off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, kneeling in front of Liam. He pulls his boxers and jeans up, then goes to fix Liam’s but he swats his hands away. “I’m not a baby,” he objects with laughter in his voice, pulling them up himself.

Zayn rolls his eyes and sits back down but, oops, he’s in the driver’s seat. They’re going to have to change seats one way or another. Preferably by brushing really close together, preferably by stopping halfway to kiss, a lot. 

He looks into the rearview mirror to fix his hair, squinting his eyes into an almost smize, or whatever it is Tyra Banks says. He starts to study his face and realises - “Oh my god, Liam.”

He points accusingly to the red and dark brown bruises and marks on his neck.

Liam just grins. He shrugs. “Thought you liked it.”

“Looks like I got strangled, it does,” he mutters, touching the sore skin. But, yeah. He does like it. Quite a lot. 

He makes an obviously fake displeased sound. 

It’s Liam who rolls his eyes then. “Come on, love.” He sits up properly and smoothes his shirt, opening the door. The automatic lightning come on at an alarming brightness. “I’ll drive you home.”

To Zayn’s… opposite of _utter delight_ , Liam walks around the car and Zayn has to give in and step out, hissing a bit and walking his same route back, with a very obvious limp, so that he’s planted back in the passenger seat. When Louis talked about Harry struggling to walk once they’d have reached their desired base, he didn’t fully think he was serious. But sitting down will really be a bit of a hassle for the rest of the day, he can feel that.

Despite all this, he’s still awfully, terribly turned on. It’s horrendous. But he _did_ just give Liam a blowjob, and he _did_ struggle with an on and off boner for approximately 3 hours straight. If he would have been home, he would have already wanked like, thrice. But Liam is still beside him, and Zayn is still wet and open and his cock is stirring in his pants yet again.

He busies himself by getting a black marker out of the pocket of his jean jacket, finding an old crumpled up receipt and doodling mindlessly. He draws stars, he draws lightning bolts, he draws comic book _POW_ s and _BAM_ s, he draws Liam, he draws himself, he draws hearts, they’re holding hands… 

“I’m okay, by the way,” he finds himself saying, just a slight murmur because he can feel how tense Liam is, and while he himself can let steam off and enter his zen zone by drawing his emotions away, Liam’s aura needs fixing in other ways. He hopes he can do just that.

“Yeah?” Liam pipes up, turning to look at him for just a second, like he was waiting for an excuse to. He’s out on the road again, heading towards Zayn’s house. How he knows where it is, he might just never know. “Sorry, I just-”

“It was really good,” Zayn interrupts gently. “Uh… amazing. Really. Wish we could have lasted longer, is all.”

Liam smiles a little relieved. “Next time.”

Zayn bites his lip and smiles back at him. He’ll have him again? “You’ll have me again?”

Oh, him and his self control.

“Wasn’t going to throw you out,” Liam says with a furrowed brow. “I mean… only if you want to.”

“If I want you to throw me out?”

“No, like. Ugh. Why is this so hard?” He shakes his head. “Not hard like that. Well… like that too. But.” He hangs his head for a moment, chuckles a bit at his terrible innuendos, but his eyes need to be back on the road immediately after. “I really want to see you again.”

“Me too,” Zayn says. He taps the pen against his leg. “Like, all the time, preferably.”

Liam smiles. “Yeah?”

“Swear.”

They smile at each other for as long as traffic laws will allow, and something stirs in Zayn’s tummy, and it’s not arousal. He just really, really, bloody likes Liam. It’s awful.

Zayn has to start giving directions eventually, and once they pull up in his driveway, Liam turning the engine off, everything is dark and silent. 

Zayn gets out the car as Liam opens his door, walking around and standing by his side, front door behind himself across the small garden.

“Well,” he says, hopelessly, “thank you for… driving me home.”

“It’s no problem,” Liam says, and he smiles, so big, brown puppy eyes sparkling and god, Zayn wants to kiss him. Or, more. “Thanks for being a good company, Zaynie.”

And then they’re silent. And then they’re staring. 

Their faces slowly drift from dreamily smiley, dopey exhausted, to like. _I just want to tear you apart_. Their eyes basically already are.

The tension is actually so thick you could--

Then Liam tugs him in by his shirt, reaching up and smacking their lips together. Zayn moans into the kiss, can’t help it, and cups his face to kiss him deeper, tongue and teeth and _alright_ , listen, he’s already got a semi in his pants, and when he blindly reaches forward for support his hand lands on Liam’s thigh, and he feels he’s got one too. And it’s so not okay. So not _fair_.

Liam moans too and grabs his waist then, tugging him back into the car. Their lips pull apart and Zayn lands back-to-chest with Liam and. Fuck.

His dick is perfectly slotted against his ass. Could you ride someone with your clothes on, this would be it. He’d be riding Liam so fucking hard.

“Fuck, Liam,” he gasps, grabbing whatever he can as Liam starts kissing his neck again, and he can’t help when he grinds his hips because Liam makes such pretty sounds but, the door is still open, his whole neighbourhood is awake. “My parents,” is what he manages to say.

“The backseat,” Liam says against his skin, and Zayn keens but cranes his neck for the sake of Liam’s access. “No one will see.”

Zayn curses under his breath but obliges, twisting inside and rolling over Liam, being a small twink and all that, and eventually manages to maneuver his long limbs to crawl into the backseat.

And. Okay. He’s literally on his hands and knees now, and Liam is somewhere unknown behind him.

He hears him slam the door closed, hears him climb in behind him with some huffs and mutters but first, condom and lube. Zayn just leans his face against his arms. He whimpers ever so slightly. “Want you so bad.”

There’s a few agonizing moment of stillness and silence as they wait for the automatic lights to go off. It’s like they’re both holding their breaths, and Zayn feels himself tremble.

When they finally fade to black, everything happens so fast. 

Zayn’s pants come off first, ripped down his thighs and then he hears Liam’s, hears the condom wrapper, feels the lube poured between his cheeks with mere milliseconds between each moment and then Liam is pushing back inside him. Zayn mewls, moans, everything, and he’s already stroking himself to slick sounds as Liam thrusts into him, grabbing onto his denim jacket as he fucks him.

He curses, hiccups, feels sensitive but still so _good_ , and they won’t last long this time either, but he thinks that’s probably for the best. He’s rocked back and forth into the seat, thinks he might have just been slamming his face against the door had he not had an arm up for support, but he doesn’t even know for sure if he would have minded it.

It’s all just skin slapping together, slick with sweat and with bitten back moans bouncing between them. Zayn has time to wonder if the car is rocking back and forth, and then Liam thrusts against his prostate. 

He _sobs_ , comes first, again, trying to collect it into his hand as to not stain Liam’s poor seats and when he’s all worn down and his cock is spent, Liam comes, Zayn savouring in his sweet sounds and the tugging of his jacket as he rides through the aftershocks, before he pulls out and sits back down.

Zayn feels mushy, pliant and warm and _happy_ , pulling his pants up and settling back into the seat. He watches Liam struggle to lazily pull up his own and they smile at each other, so utterly exhausted. 

Liam notices his hand, literally trying to hold onto his cum like holding water in the desert, and his eyes go wide before he bursts out laughing. “Oh! Right, sorry. Don’t have any tissues, um.”

He reaches forward to a stray receipt. But before he hands it over he looks closely at it, furrows his brow. Zayn feels his heart in his throat.

Ah, yes. _That_ receipt.

Liam holds it up in front of him. “Is this us?” he asks, pointing at the two stick figures, one with black hair and glasses, one with short outlined hair and ridiculous muscles, holding hands with hearts floating above. 

Zayn pretends to look closely at it. “Hard to tell.”

Liam squints suspiciously. “But you did draw it?”

“I did.”

“So… who’s it meant to be?”

Zayn looks at him. Then he reaches for the door. Because he’s not dealing with this, not now, not with his own sperm drying in his palm. Not ever. 

Liam tugs his arm. He sits back down and Liam looks hard at him.

“Do you like me?”

The question doesn’t feel like the last time. Last time it was like, _lol you’re hot do you fancy me enough to let me blow you_? This time... This time, it feels like a punch to the stomach.

It’s a displeased _comme ci comme ça_ sound that eventually leaves Zayn’s throat.

But Liam won’t break the eye contact. “Just tell me if you don’t, then.”

And. Nothing.

Liam swallows. His eyes start darting to Zayn’s lips.

“Okay,” he drawls. “Good to know.”

He shuffles closer. Zayn finds himself leaning in too.

“Because I kind of really like you too, so.”

In the end, it’s Zayn that properly leans in to kiss him. He thinks he owes him that, after a whole night of hard-to-read signals, of awkwardness, of sexual frustration and _fuck does he really like Liam bloody Payne_.

When they pull away, they’re red-faced and smiling and could probably honestly go again. But Zayn reaches for the door, letting himself and then Liam stumble out. Liam walks him to the front door without question, reaching for his non sperm-induced hand. And so, they’re really holding hands. It really was that simple.

They part on the doorstep with another haste kiss, genuine smiles, a promise to text and then he walks inside.

He falls back against the door once it’s closed behind him and he fans his face most discretely, makes prayer hands towards the ceiling with his eyes blissfully closed.

After he’s washed up and gone to bed, he realises he has seven texts from Louis all saying variations of _“oi”_ and _“where r u 2 ?”_. None from Liam yet, but he knows it’s coming, once he’s back home. Hopefully something cheesy. 

He texts Lou back he’s home now and sends a bunch of heart emojis with a thanks for his worries, and leaves it to Liam to decide whether to make up a lie or tell the full story. Louis probably wouldn’t care anyway, what with his whole Harry Styles situation. Zayn should be nicer about that. He should probably help him get to his desired base.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is a good day to start.

What sort of has him shaken out of his orbit is a sudden text from Harry. Him and Harry very rarely text and if they do it’s usually school or Louis related. Opening it tentatively, it says nothing more than _‘Finally official? Can’t wait for the double dates! Love H x’._

He instantly calls Liam. He would have texted, but… there lies the wonderful dick pic, and Zayn is far too sore and worn out to get turned on again tonight.

“Hi,” Liam greets, and Zayn actually gets butterflies. His voice sounds lovely and dark and sleepy and husky and everything else good over the static of the line, and Zayn has to remind himself to call him more often. Like every night, if possible.

“You told them about us?” he blurts out, and he can hear how Liam just stops with whatever he’s doing.

And maybe it makes sense. Maybe they’re friends, because Liam did after all get Harry to get Louis out of the house when they needed to be alone; maybe they plotted it. A double booty call. Dirty, dirty boys.

But then Liam chuckles. “You know what’s funny? I was genuinely going to tell Louis for real, then he comes to me and like, tells me he’s so glad you’re not dating a dickhead.” He stops but Zayn doesn’t say anything, too caught up with working it out and also, _dating_. Maybe that’s a thing they do now. Date. Are boyfriends. Are in love and have sensual sex and stuff. Huh. Crazy how things work out. “Said he’d known all along but knew for sure when we were leaving together and took forever to get back. Apparently my shirt was also tucked into my underwear, which was... great.”

“Tried to help you,” Zayn mutters and Liam laughs. “I can’t believe this. I was so nervous… I mean. Harry will be so gross and try to get me to do coupley things.”

Liam hums dreamily. “We’ll be like in Ghost, they make a vase or something together right? Such romance.” Zayn snorts most attractively and rolls his eyes. He hears Liam lie down, and he so wishes he was in bed with him. “Why nervous?”

He lies down himself and twirls a strand of hair around his finger. “Oh, just. Felt a little taboo, maybe? Not that you’re anything bad, just.”

“What?” Liam prompts with laughter. 

“Because you’re Lou’s step brother, and…” he shrugs, “you’re old.”

At that, Liam really cracks up. He has to explain to him how three years is not in fact old, despite Zayn’s total ( _secret_ , shh) kink for it, and how Louis shouldn’t care if they like each other. Except he does, but in a good way. Because apparently he’s absolutely ecstatic over how they’re ready to come clean, Liam says, and over how Zayn is dating someone he knows and trusts because he wants the best for him always. It kind of makes Zayn’s heart swell a lot because he feels the same way right back. 

When they’ve hung up and he’s about to go to sleep, he remembers Harry. He texts him back a ‘Yes, tomorrow please x’, then he turns his lights off.

Yes. He wants to do _all_ the gross coupley things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL LOOKING AT THE NOTES FROM THE LAST CHAPTER BECAUSE HARRY HADN'T POSTED ON INSTAGRAM IN 6 MONTHS. THEN HARRY POSTED 3 WHITE SQUARES. NOW HARRY HAS AN ALBUM! HARRY IS TOURING THE WORLD SOLO NEXT YEAR! WHAT THE FUCK! And as for more life updates, Hellounor is still back, so the Larry is strong in this one. Zayn was going to actually go outside and actually have a concert but cancelled like 2 days before; it was that sort of tragically hilarious thing. I approve of Liam's child and the name is adorable and him and his gf seem really genuinely happy together... but I'm still posting this. Strip that down for Zayn, bitch. He just wants to watch you when you take it off, BITCH.

**Author's Note:**

> me: okay I’m going to stop writing fanfics now for real this time it is unethical and bad and I do not wish to intervene with these grownass boys’ personal lives like this any longer
> 
> also me: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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